


Unrequited

by Fictionista654



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bad Sex, F/M, M/M, Or Is It?, Yearning, unrequited love :(
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27901912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionista654/pseuds/Fictionista654
Summary: Merlin spills his secret to Elena, but she already knows.“How is it obvious?” says Merlin. His mouth is numb and he can’t really feel his hands. He hopes this is shock and not the alcohol.“Well,” says Elena, passing him the bottle. “Whenever he walks into a room, you compliment him. You’re always like,Everyone, look at how perfect Arthur is!”“As a joke,” says Merlin. Elena shakes her head.“Merlin, you’re obviously not joking. It’s not just how he looks. You’ll be like, talking about how good he is at maths and stuff. You clearly love him.”
Relationships: Elena/Merlin (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	Unrequited

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even remember when I wrote this, but um...here lol

“I’m in love with Arthur,” says Merlin. Elena snorts and takes another swig of cheap wine from the bottle.

“Um, I know,” she says. Merlin’s mouth falls open in slow-motion. 

“What?” he says. “How? You do? What?” God, he’s too drunk for this.

“It’s sort of obvious,” she says kindly, swinging around on her chair to look at him. They’re on the roof of their building, doing their usual wasted whining. They’ve already gone through the first bottle of red and are on the second. If they were sober, Merlin would never give up his secret.

Except, Elena already knows.

“How is it obvious?” says Merlin. His mouth is numb and he can’t really feel his hands. He hopes this is shock and not the alcohol. 

“Well,” says Elena, passing him the bottle. “Whenever he walks into a room, you compliment him. You’re always like, _Everyone, look at how perfect Arthur is!_ ”

“As a joke,” says Merlin. Elena shakes her head.

“Merlin, you’re obviously not joking. It’s not just how he looks. You’ll be like, talking about how good he is at maths and stuff. You clearly love him.”

No one earth feels as miserable as Merlin does at this moment. He looks down at his knees and wonders when he became this pathetic. Elena’s not exactly the most observant person, and if she knows…

He raises the wine bottle to his lips and holds it there. He’s drunker than he should be, but not as drunk as he wants to be, and there’s grief in his mouth and in his heart. He thinks about Arthur’s beautiful face, imagines rubbing his thumbs along his cheekbones and pressing a kiss to those pouting lips. 

So he makes a mistake. He puts down the bottle and says, “Wanna hook up?”

***

He wakes up in Elena’s guest bedroom in nothing but his underwear. His head is pounding, his mouth is dry, and he thinks he might throw up. It gets worse whenever he remembers the night before, so he tries to push it out of his head. He doesn’t want to get even more ridiculous. Guys are supposed to do one-night stands, right? 

But then he remembers Elena’s mouth around his cock, and he presses the heel of his hand to his mouth so he won’t cry. It’s not her fault, he knows. He acted like he was into it, like he wanted to be there, which is honestly sort of rude of him, now that he thinks of it. But he wasn’t into it, and now it just hurts to remember, and he wishes he could undo last night and the drinking before it and walk backwards out of Elena’s flat and down the two floors into his own and say bye to his mum and walk past her into his bedroom and get back into bed, the way he was before Elena called asking him if he felt like the roof.

The thing is, he _always_ feels like the roof. Merlin hasn’t met a drink he could say no to. He’d want a drink right now if he didn’t think he’d puke it up. When he sits, his head spins, and he realizes he’s still drunk. In the hall, Elena’s just coming out of her room.

“Oh,” she says when she sees him. Her pretty face is crimped with anxiety. “Are you all right? I’m sorry about last night.”

Last night: Elena’s mouth on Merlin’s dick, Merlin’s breath catching in his throat, the room spinning, him starting to cry as he pushes away Elena’s head. Pa-fucking-thetic.

“Not your fault,” says Merlin, hugging himself a little. “I’m just gonna go downstairs, yeah? I need some more sleep.”

“Right,” she says, and walks him to the door. “You’d let me if you were really upset, right?”

“Yep,” Merlin lies. He gives her one last weak smile and a little salute before wobbling off the lift. He doesn’t think he’s quite up for the stairs today.

It’s such a relief walking into his own flat that his skin buzzes with pleasure. He detours for the shower first, and stands under the hot spray for as long as he can stand. When he can’t stand any longer, he lies on his side and traces the porcelain tub with a finger. He wonders why he said yes when he meant no. He wonders why he asked Elena if she wanted to hook up.

No, he knows that answer to that one. _It’s sort of obvious. Whenever he walks into a room…_

Merlin sighs and reaches for the tap. He doesn’t have much energy, so it takes a few tries to turn it off, and a few more tries to get out of the tub and into a towel.

His room is surprisingly unchanged. It’s not that Merlin thinks he’s lost his virginity or anything—it was only a blowjob—but it feels like this should be a more momentous occasion. But everything’s still the same. His childish blue sheets and eighteen-year-old teddy and all the little-kid science fiction books are just where he left them.

At least the weed is where he left it, too. Still in his towel, he rolls a joint on his windowsill and smokes it out the open window. They’re on the tenth floor, so he’s not worried about anybody passing by and smelling, and his mum is out on her shift at Ealdor General. 

He’ll be fine, he tells himself, meaning more than just the weed. He’ll smoke and get under the covers and pretend that he isn’t a pathetic loser in love with his straight best friend. He’ll pretend that he doesn’t think about Arthur as he goes sleep or when he wakes up or in class when he’s supposed to be focusing. 

Fuck, he just loves him so much. Arthur can never know. Except he probably does, if Elena is to be believed. If Merlin is really that obvious, Arthur must know, but he’s so kind about it, he never brings it up or teases Merlin about it. He teases Merlin about things, but never about Merlin’s dead-end crush.

It hurts to be Merlin, sometimes. He inhales and exhales lungfuls of acrid smoke until all he has left is the roach, and he smokes that, too, because he likes the pain. When it’s finally done, he stubs it out on the windowsill—sorry, mum—and tosses it in the hollow of the sill before shutting the window. Across the street, a pigeon takes off from its nest, and Merlin watches it flap away before collapsing into bed.

It’s hard to fall asleep. Images of last night keep playing behind his eyes, and he tosses and turns for ages trying to escape his odd feeling of guilt. But he’s exhausted, and drunk, and high, so he eventually falls into a deep sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on tumblr! Fictionista654 there too


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